Bridesmaid Says, ''I Do!''. Barbara Hannay
Zoe toyed with the idea of trying the Willara Downs number to see if Kent Rigby could help. But it was such a bad way to start the weekend, to be seen as a useless city chick who wouldn’t even try to fix a simple problem by herself.
Resigned, she climbed out. The tyre was as flat as a burst balloon, and she went to her boot to hunt for the jack and the thingamabob that loosened the wheel nuts.
Mosquitoes buzzed as she hunted. The jack was, of course, buried under all the luggage—two overnight bags, two make-up bags, two sets of hot rollers.
‘You never know, there might be a party,’ Bella had said.
Now, with their belongings scattered haphazardly on the side of the road, Zoe squatted beside the wheel, positioned the jack and got on with turning its handle.
So far so good … except she didn’t really know how high she was supposed to raise the car. And once that was done … she wasn’t certain she was strong enough to loosen the wheel nuts. They looked mighty tight. And even if she did get them off, would she be able to tighten them up again?
Zoe’s unhelpfully vivid imagination threw up a picture of her car driving off with the back wheel spinning free and bouncing into the bush, while she struggled with an out-of-control steering wheel.
Maybe she should try to ring for help.
Standing again, she reached into the car for her handbag. As usual, because she really needed it, her phone had slipped from its handy side pouch to the very bottom of her bag, so she had to feel around among movie tickets, keys, lipsticks, pens, old shopping lists, tissues …
She was still fumbling when she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. Her spirits lifted. This might be nice, friendly country folk only too happy to stop and help her.
The thought was barely formed, however, before Zoe felt a shaft of hot panic. If only she hadn’t watched all those horror movies. Here she was—totally alone in the silent, empty bush wondering if the driver was an axe murderer, an escaped prisoner, a rapist.
She made a final, frantic fumble in the bottom of her bag, and her fingers closed around her phone just as a white utility vehicle shot around the curve.
There was only one person in the ute and all she could see was a black silhouette, distinctly masculine. He was slowing down.
Zoe’s nervous heart gave a sickening thud as his ute came to a complete stop and he leaned out, one strong, suntanned forearm resting casually on the window’s rim.
In panic, she depressed the call button on her phone and glanced quickly at the screen.
No signal. She was out of the network. Oh, terrific. There was no hope of a rescue.
‘Need a hand?’ the driver called.
At least he had a friendly voice—mellow and warm with a hint of good humour.
Zoe gulped, and forced herself to look at him properly. She saw dark, neatly trimmed hair and dark eyes. Not threatening eyes, but genial, friendly, and framed by a handsome face. Nicely proportioned nose, strong jaw and a generous mouth.
Already his door was swinging open, and he stepped out.
He was wearing a crisp blue shirt with long sleeves rolled back from his wrists and pale cream moleskin trousers. His elastic sided riding boots were tan and well polished. Zoe had always fancied that look—clean cut with a hint of cowboy. Surely, an axe murderer wouldn’t go to so much trouble?
‘I see you’ve got a flat,’ he said, coming towards her with the easy loose gait of a man of the land. ‘That’s rotten luck.’
He smiled and his eyes were deep, coffee-brown—friendly eyes, with a spark of fun, and with laughter lines fanning from the corners.
In spite of her fears, Zoe couldn’t help smiling back at him. ‘I’ve just about got the car jacked up, but I wasn’t sure how far I should take it.’
‘I’d say you have it just right. The perfect height.’
Perfect. It was fast becoming one of her favourite words.
Suddenly, she couldn’t remember why she’d been scared of this fellow. There was something about his smile and about his face that was incredibly, importantly right.
In fact … Zoe felt as if a gong had been struck deep inside her, and it took a magnificent effort to force her attention away from this stranger to her problem. ‘I was—um—about to tackle the wheel nuts.’
‘Would you like a hand with them?’ He was smiling again and her skin tingled deliciously. ‘If that doesn’t offend you.’
‘Why would I be offended by an offer of help?’ From a gorgeous man, she added silently.
He shrugged. ‘Thought you might be like my little sister—the independent type. She hates it when guys assume she needs help when she doesn’t.’
‘Oh, I see.’ The mention of his sister relaxed Zoe even further. Actually, she was so relaxed she was practically floating, and she offered him a radiant smile. ‘I’d love to say I could manage this tyre on my own, but, to be honest, I’m really not sure I can manage. I was just about to phone for help.’
‘No need. It won’t take long.’
‘That’s awfully kind of you.’ Holding out the wheel thingamajig, she hoped her saviour didn’t get grease on his clothes.
Clearly not sharing her concern for his pristine trousers, he hunkered down beside the wheel and began working smoothly and efficiently.
Nice hands, Zoe noticed. He was nice all over, actually. Tall and muscular. Not too lean, not too beefy. She suppressed a little sigh, and told herself she was a fool to feel fluttery over the first country fellow she met. Before this wedding was over she’d meet tons of cute rural guys.
But there was something special about this man, something totally entrancing about the warmth in his brown eyes and the quirk of his smile, a subtle something that made her heart dance and her insides shimmy.
Strange she could feel so much when all his attention was focused on her car’s rear wheel.
‘Now for the spare.’ Having loosened the wheel, he was standing up again, and he glanced Zoe’s way.
Their gazes linked and.
He went very still. And a new kind of intensity came into his eyes. He stared at Zoe … as if he’d had a shock, a pleasant, yet deeply disturbing shock.
Trapped in his gaze, she could feel her face glowing hot as a bonfire, and she was struck by the weirdest sense that she and this helpful stranger were both experiencing the same awesome rush. Deep tremors—happy and scary at once—as if they had been connected on an invisible wavelength.
This can’t be what I think it is.
Back to earth, Zoe.
She realised that the stranger was frowning now and looking upset. Or was he angry? It was hard to tell. His brow was deeply furrowed and he dropped his gaze to the ground and his throat worked as he stared at a dried mud puddle.
Zoe held her breath, unable to speak or even think, and yet incredibly aware that something beyond the ordinary had happened.
Then her rescuer blinked and shook his head, as if he was ridding himself of an unwanted thought. He cleared his throat. ‘Ah—the spare tyre. I guess it’s in the boot?’
Turning away from Zoe, he made his way to the back of the car, skilfully stepping between the scattered pieces of luggage.
‘I’m sorry,’ Zoe spluttered, struggling to shake off the unsettling spell that seemed to have gripped her. ‘I should have fetched the spare tyre and had it ready for you.’
‘No worries.’ He spoke casually enough, but when he